


the long kiss goodnight

by Merideath



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Amnesia, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Steggy Secret Santa, Warning: Fruitcake, the long kiss goodnight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 16:44:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9132730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/pseuds/Merideath
Summary: My name is Margaret Carter.At least I think it is.I was born seven years ago on a beach in New Jersey. I entered the world fully grown, with saltwater in my lungs, wearing clothes I don’t remember purchasing. In the lining of my coat was a silver key, filed down and faceless. A metaphor I’d rather not contemplate. There are scars on my body, lines and holes that speak of a history beyond my grasp. Focal retrograde amnesia, a twisted mouthful of words I’ve learned to live with. I have a job I love, a kid I’m crazy about, and I’m seeing someone. A good man - if a little stubborn.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darlingcap](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=darlingcap).



> For Darlingcap in the Steggy Secret Santa Exchange. 
> 
> Thank you, aenaria, for beta'ing the crap out of this ficlet. 
> 
> Remind me never to sign up for one of these again, please. Okay, I actually did have fun writing this, The Long Kiss Goodnight is one of my favourite holiday films. Seriously, its right up there next to Die Hard. This holiday season has been a bit crap for me, we all got the flu so my house had a big red cross painted on it and we are all still recovering. Maybe next December I'll have a swing at this again and add a bit more, but for now this is what it is and I hope you enjoy the read. Happy New Year, folks. <3

_ My name is Margaret Carter.  _

_ At least I think it is.  _

_ I was born seven years ago on a beach in New Jersey. I entered the world fully grown, with saltwater in my lungs, wearing clothes I don’t remember purchasing. In the lining of my coat was a silver key, filed down and faceless. A metaphor I’d rather not contemplate. There are scars on my body, lines and holes that speak of a history beyond my grasp. Focal retrograde amnesia, a twisted mouthful of words I’ve learned to live with. I have a job I love, a kid I’m crazy about, and I’m seeing someone. A good man - if a little stubborn. _

_ The woman I was...she’s gone.  _

_ I kissed her goodnight. _

...

“Peg, where’s the red wine?” Steve shouts up the stairs. 

“In the pantry, bottom shelf on the left,” Peggy says. She picks up a golden tube of lipstick and pulls off the cap. With a twist the lipstick emerges, The color is red. Besame Red Velvet. Of all the lipstick tubes cluttering the bathroom counter it was Peggy’s favorite.

“It’s not there.”

“I assure you it is,” Peggy says. She rolls her eyes and glides the red lipstick over her mouth. 

“Done.” She leans back, smoothing her hands over the garish red Christmas sweater she’s wearing. Her finger hooks under the hem and she presses a button that sets multicolored lights twinkling over the three dimensional tree on her chest. “How do I look?”

“You’re so pretty, Mama,” Sharon says from where she’s perched on the coverlet, in her white satiny dress and sparkly silver shoes. 

Peggy’s heart twists, a smile, wide and bright lighting up her face. “Flattery will get you extra marshmallow in your cocoa.” 

“I know.”

“Are you ready for the party?”

“Do I get to stay up late?”

“We’ll see, baby.”

...

“I’ve got movement on Margaret Carter,” Maria says, holding up a file.”

“The Amnesia Chick, really?” Nick asks, unravelling the scarf around his neck. 

“No, some of her belongings were found in an apartment she rented in Brooklyn. Some old lady died, greedy grandkids swiped a credit card with Margaret Carter on it. Tried to use it at a Target store.”

...

“When are you gonna put that boy outta his misery and marry ‘im?” Dugan slurs as Peggy helps him into the passenger side of his car. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dugan,” she says. It takes longer than it should to get his belt wrapped around him.

“Course you do, Peg.” 

“Hush now, you’re drunk,” Peggy orders, pulling out of the driveway. “Let’s get you home.” 

Dum-Dum’s house is outside of town. A fifteen minute drive. It only takes ten before the world splinters apart in ice and blood. A stag bounds across the road. The car clips it, spinning out of control and off the road. The scent of blood and gasoline and the cold kiss of winter fills Peggy’s lungs.

...

_ “Agent Thirteen is alive, sir.” _

_ “You were meant to dispose of her seven years ago, Agent Thompson.” _

_ "Yes, sir. I thought I did, sir." _

_ "Obviously not, Thompson. Fix it." _

_ "Yes, sir." _

...

She takes a gulp of air, shoving her hair back with a hand covered in icing sugar and the crimson splash of blood. The blood wasn’t Peggy’s, of that she was sure, though little else made much sense in the course of the night. Her kitchen was a mess, a fine dusting of sugar coating half of the island and floor, a teatowel lay burning on the stove, the heavy red kettle lay on the floor in a pool of warm water with a large dent in the side.

“Peggy!” Steve says, grasping her arm. His eyes tear over her frantically, searching for fatal wounds that were not there. A red mark, the imprint of of a fist is blooming on his jaw. Her Steven was no glass jaw, he’d given as good as he got in the fight by the look of his raw knuckles that matched Peggy’s own. His day job might have been a paramedic, but it didn’t mean that he couldn’t throw a punch or two. She’d heard the stories from his friends, of little Steven Rogers, with a bloody face and an inhaler curled in his fist ready to fight as long as the day held. “Are you okay? How did you do that?”

“I'm fine, but the cake is ruined.” 

“I think there are bigger things to worry about than my mother’s fruitcake,” Steve says, kicking a flaming chunk of cake across the tiles.

“Nonsense,” Peggy dismisses with a wave of her hand. “Fruitcake is an essential part of Christmas.” She switches the burner off on the stove, covering up the flaming tea towel with the lid to a pan. Rummaging around in a drawer by the stove she finds a clean tea towel embroidered with cheerful elves. She dabs at the corner of her mouth, wiping away a trail of blood, icing sugar, and a smear of glacé fruit and alcohol laden cake. 

“You’re insane.”

“I love you too, darling,” Peggy says. She tilts her head back and tucks her fingers into the neck of Steve’s sweater. She tilts her head back and Steve takes the hint pressing his mouth over hers. It’s not what she wants though, Peggy sinks her teeth into Steve’s plump bottom lip, slides her hand up to feather through Steve’s hair, red painted nails scratching over his scalp. 

A groan vibrates up through Steve’s chest and his arms wrap tight around Peggy’s waist. Her bare feet raise up from the floor as the kiss turns filthy. Heat spreads down her spine and pools in her belly. A heat that matches the adrenaline still burning in her in her veins. 

Someone clears their throat. “I don't mean to alarm you, but your kid is in my car, Ms Carter.”

“Oh god, Sharon,” Peggy cries. She pulls from Steve’s arms, one hand clutching at her breast as her heart squeezes tight.

“Kid’s fine, Ms. Carter.”

“Who the hell are you?” Steve says, each word as rough and hard as the scones Peggy bakes.

“Nick Fury, private dick, got a card if you need it,” Nick says. He bends down over the body on the floor. “Looks like you need to take the garbage out, Ms. Carter.”

“It's okay, Steve, he...he works for me.”

“I work for myself. You just pay my phone bill,” Nick says with a crooked smile.

“I hired Mr Fury to find out who Margaret Carter really is. Who I am,” Peggy says. She straightens her spine, vertebra by vertebra. 

“I know who you are,” Steve says. His jaw twitches stubbornly.

She pats his arm, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Oh, darling.”

“Not to break up this fine Rockwell Christmas, but the cops’ll be here any minute now and we really shouldn’t.”

“I’ll just grab my coat and handbag,” Peggy nods. All the fire in her blood turns to sluggish ice water. She feels a little bit like an automaton shoving her feet into her Hunter boots and pulling her coat on, numb fingers struggling with the large buttons. She doesn’t say another word until they are outside, and Sharon is in her arms. 

“Are you okay, baby?” 

“Yes, Mama. I did what you said.”

“I know, love. You were very brave.” Peggy kisses the top of Sharon’s head, silky blond strands of hair sticking to her mouth. “I need you to be brave and good for me and Steve a little bit longer.”

“For Santa Claus too?” Sharon asks looking up at Peggy with wide blue eyes. 

“For Santa too,” Peggy nods. She hugs her daughter tightly, raining kisses over Sharon’s pale face unto Sharon wriggles in her grasp. “I love you, baby.” She passes Sharon over to Steve, who wraps her up in his coat. The sound of distant sirens fills the snowy night.

“Peg?”

“I’m going with Mr. Fury. I need to do this, Steve. I need to find out who I was. Clearly I am not a chef,” Peggy waves a hand at the body on the floor. “Please, take care of Sharon while I’m gone. Take her to your mother’s house. It will be safe there. She’s all I have besides you.”

“Of course, Peg, you know I love you both.”

“Good,” Peggy says. She rocks up on her toes and plants a kisses the corner of Steve’s mouth. She reaches up to brush a faint lipstick mark from his chin with a sweep of her thumb. “Goodnight, my darling.”


End file.
